The Nine Tribes
by NoGoodIDNames
Summary: Generations after the Nine sticthpunks defeated the Fabrication Machine, the descended tribes carry on their legacy in a world beset by dangers.


_**The Nine Tribes**_

_**Chapter One**_

_Before the prophets founded the nine tribes, before the false maker created his monstrous children, before the rains of life had fallen, there were the Titans. When the world was still new, these giants had mastered the earth and the heavens above. In the raw chaos of this world they carved their order and set it in stone and steel and pavement._

_But they were lonely, and they sought to make others that could share their order. From dirt and clay they formed the first of us. They broke off part of their souls, and put them in the first, and there was life. When we opened our eyes and stepped into the sun, they rejoiced and celebrated the birth of their new children. Under their guidance we learned and grew stronger._

_And just as we had grown to love them, the Titans vanished. Called back to the heavens, they left this world to us, their favorite children and most cherished creations. We are creators now, makers of our own children in the image of the Titans. This world is ours, and though we be small and weak, we remember the Titans and we will govern it in their name._

Threevase sat back, his story concluded. The rest of the tribe stirred as they realized his story had reached its end. Those still sleeping were woken by the lighter sleepers around the campfire.

Longchair leaned forward. Although the chief, even he had dozed off during one of Threevase's many iterations of his Titan story. "Very good, Threevase," he said. "Would anyone else like to go?"

No one volunteered. "Alright then," he said. "I would like to announce that two of our young scholars, Whitewire and Distinct, have declared their intentions," and he smiled, "and plan to take the journey to the Valley in two days."

After a few seconds, his words sunk in, and the whole campfire was in uproar. The men surrounded Whitewire, patting him on the back while he grinned nervously. The women clustered around Distinct, assaulting her with questions. She handled it better and managed to get away from them before the campfire had gone to embers.

But in the end all the tribe had gone to bed, in their huts of cardboard coated in tar, as the last of the toothpick logs burned away to ash. Soon all was silent in the little village, sheltered against roaring nature outside. Shelter enough for the villagers of canvas and cloth; the tribe of people less than eight inches high.

The sun rose on the remains of a library, gutted by fire and rusted by rain. A watcher could trace the line of one last surviving ceiling on the third floor. Supported by two wavering walls, it served as an overhang to shield the tiny houses, dots against the floor amid charred bricks and rotting books. A watcher could see all these things from the bell tower across the street choked with driverless cars. A watcher was, in fact, watching.

Quicktar was bored. It was his morning for the watch, and his mind had been racing back and forth in the confines of a body chained to a job of boredom and monotony. In the six hours that he had been at watch, the trespassers on the Tribe of Three had been a falling rock, a paper caught by the wind, and some lens flare.

He amused himself by spinning the telescope around on its base. He picked dust from the metal joints of his wrists and ankles. He scratched at the stitches on his leg where he had torn open the canvas of his skin the other day. He belabored the agony of stagnation and the folly of menial servitude in the modern world. Again and again his mind came round to the terrible, mind crushing boredom.

Behind him, a figure was climbing up the rope to the bells. Bulkier than Quicktar but shorter, Gapflow had hauled himself up the three stories to the tower's top. As quietly as he could, he leapt to the ledge and pulled himself up. Drawing his knife, Gapflow crept up behind Quicktar and prepared to strike. This time, with surprise on his side, he would finally be able to-

Fast as lightning, Quicktar twisted and leapt back, pulling his knife in a flash. Gapflow was only aware of a blur before he felt the blade at his back. He sighed, and dropped his knife.

"Alright, Quicktar, you win. How did you even hear me?"

The victor grinned, the beads of his eyes twinkling. "Hear? I didn't need to hear you, my meandering friend. I know you better than you know yourself. I understand my foe, and thus I can ever defeat him, for I am he and knows always what he will do. I am a goddamn force of nature. I'm in the wind and the rain and the earth and the sky, and I am not about to be beaten by a guy who takes the rope up the bell tower, because he is the guy that will always attack in a head on charge."

The loser sighed again. Even though Quicktar was his friend, any conversation with him tended to go off into bizarre tangents. Long ago Quicktar had found a thesaurus in the depths of the library, and it was widely believed that his vocabulary had changed for the worse. "Okay, okay. Anything on the watch?"

Quicktar tapped his eye with a _clink_. " I have watched high and I have watched low, comrade, and mine eyes have seen great glories. I saw the boulders fall from the highest cliffs; I saw scripture float on the highest breezes. I was caught by the shining awe of the world as it blazed through the lenses of the mortal soul. But in my trying ordeal I had seen naught in the way of motion guided by mind."

_Okay, _thought Gapflow. _That's a rock falling, a piece of paper, and… light? Has Quicktar been looking at the sun through the telescope again?_ "Alright, Quicktar, thanks for the update. I'm taking watch, so you can head down."

"Finally. The telescope and I are no longer on speaking terms. At this point it was only a matter of time before the ray-bending fiend turned on me."

With that particular non-sequiter, Quicktar turned and vaulted off the side of the building.

The center was filled with activity. After two days of getting ready it was time for Whitewire and Distinct to leave. They stood near the campfire ring as everyone pestered them with advice.

"Now make sure that you stay on the path," "Always have something to trade," "If you see anything useful make sure you bring it with you"

Eventually Threevase came forward and the tribe went quiet. "Distinct and Whitewire," he said, his beard hanging down in threads, "the great scholars of our young. Your pairing is a memory of the prophets Three and Four, so connected in spirit that they knew the other's thoughts. Like them, your pursuit of knowledge gives you power, and the wisdom to use your power for the good of the tribe.

"Now is the time for you to take the quest of creation. Journey together through the wilderness, past the tribes of Four and Five, until you reach the Genesis Valley. There you will be joined in union, and create a new member of our tribe, a soul to be given form."

He tapped his own soul, a green sphere poking from his chest that pulsed with emerald light. "When you return with child, we shall hold a great celebration. We shall take the soul and craft it in canvas and metal in the image of the Titans."

The tribal elder's speech was met with much greater enthusiasm than his story two nights ago. Threevase returned to the crowd, and Longchair stepped forward.

"While I am among the first to applaud Whitewire and Distinct's union," he said, "I know that I am not the only one to be uneasy about it. Knowledge may give power, but so often the power is not applicable to the danger at hand. And while no one doubts Whitewire's courage, there are many dangers in the wilderness that courage alone cannot overcome.

"They will need a guardian to protect them on the road. It is high time that our young warriors prove their place," Longchair said. He waved a hand towards the three at the edge of the ring, currently trying to get each other in headlocks. Eventually one realized their audience and alerted the others.

"_As I was saying_, Whitewire and Distinct will need a guardian. Are there any volunteers?"

Four hands shot up. Two belonged to Quicktar. Longchair smiled. "I thought so. Well, there's only one way to settle this."

The ring had been cleared. The tribe crowded around as Quicktar fought Gapflow for guardianship.

Gapflow was losing. His head ached and his skin had torn in a dozen places, but he staggered on and attacked again. Quicktar moved like mercury, sliding past Gapflow and catching him in the back with a kick. Gapflow fell to the ground, while his assailant hopped on impatient feet.

"Let's go, Gapflow," he said, "I know you like I know my left arm, and while I occasionally find mysterious novelties within its qualities, my left arm is something I know very well, and I know that you aren't finished yet. You throw yourself again and again, and if I were a wall, your head would have smashed through long ago. But you're facing water and fire and it's going around and through, and there's no way you can win because I'm in everything and you can't find anything to hit and-"

"Shut up!" Gapflow came up with an uppercut. Quicktar leaned back, dodging the punch. It was the kick that he didn't expect, and it caught him right in his midsection. Gapflow's foot tore right through the canvas of his stomach and bent the metal of his spine. He collapsed, too shocked even to speak.

The crowd exploded in applause. They clustered around the combatants, lifting Gapflow up on their shoulders and carrying Quicktar, who smiled weakly in disbelief. After a few minutes of combined effort they managed to bend his spine back into position.

Gapflow was brought back down to the ring. He looked across at the other warrior. Almost a head taller, he stood at ease, waiting for the fight to begin. Instead of the stitching that held most of the tribe's elbows and knees together, he wore metal bands to keep his skin from loosening.

The third young warrior, Brakewards, stepped forward. He unhooked his blade from his back, a half-scissor almost his height, and dropped it out of the ring. "Ready, Gapflow?"

"Always have been, always will be," said Gapflow. He shook his head, willed away the fog. "I only ever beat Quicktar one time out of seven, so I'm feeling lucky."

Without warning he darted forward, hoping to catch Brakewards off guard. Jumping, Gapflow shot a leg out at his head. Brakewards swiveled, caught the blow on his shoulder, seized the foot and pulled. Gapflow found himself in an unexpected arc over Brakeward's head and into the ground.

Quicktar would have waited for him to get up. Brakewards didn't. He came down and grabbed his arms, pulling Gapflow into a lock that he would have to break his own shoulders to get out of.

A flailing foot managed to catch him, though, and Gapflow rolled up and away into a ready stance. This time Brakewards struck first. Almost as fast as Quicktar and twice as strong, he stunned Gapflow with a quick jab and followed up with a powerful haymaker, sending his victim spinning across to the edge of the ring. Gapflow looked up from his earthly repose just in time for Brakewards to hook his fingers under Gapflow's chin, haul him up by his jaw, and deliver one last kick. He sailed out of the ring through the gap made by rapidly evacuating tribe members, who had figured out which way the fight was going and had moved accordingly.

The winner by disqualification, Brakewards got less applause than Gapflow's earlier underdog victory. But the older warriors watched, and nodded in approval. The guardian had been chosen.

Longchair stepped into the ring, and held Brakeward's hand into the air. "We have a winner! Whitewire and Distinct, your guardian will guide you in times of peril, protect you in danger, and bring you home."

He grinned with a paternal pride. "Your guardian is Brakewards, my own son."

The sun had reached the top of the sky by the time they were ready. Carrying their packs, the three broke away from the crowd and walked away, turning only when they reached the edge of the library roof. Climbing down through ropes and ladders, they reached the ground and set off among the cars and sidewalks. And as the sun sank into the horizon, it set on three little figures, three canvas creatures in a world owned no longer by the Titans who had made them.


End file.
